Whiskey and Marble
by megglette
Summary: Ginny looks forward to the Hogwarts Christmas party every year. But when an unexpected Draco arrives at her brother's request, she finds herself unexpectedly drawn to the Slytherin pariah. Written for the DG SS '17.
1. A Promise to Her Brother

_Holly, glitter, dashing_

This was written as a present for idreamofdraco in the 2017 DG Forum Secret Santa Exchange. Cheers to my second year participating!

Second half of Ginny's last year of Hogwarts, not Epilogue-compliant

* * *

It was Christmas-time at Hogwarts. Today was the last day of exams, and once Ginny had suffered through her Transfiguration Exam, there was one last thing to look forward to before the holiday break. Every year, the student's of Hogwarts held an invite-only Christmas Party, the season's worst kept secret. The Weasley twins had started the tradition the year before they left Hogwarts for good, and in the years that had followed, the event had only grown more extravagant. Some years were formal, some years were costume parties, one had been an ugly Christmas sweater. But every year, the party was generously supplied with Butterbeer, Firewhiskey, and enough champagne to get most of the older students at Hogwarts completely, sopping drunk.

Ginny walked through the halls of Hogwarts, down from the Gryffindor Common room to the Dining Hall for breakfast. She very warily trod on the moving stair wells, hyper vigilant. Someone had decided that decorating the banisters and handrails with holly boughs would be festive. As an unforeseen consequence, it also meant no one could hold on to the stairwell. Several times in the last few weeks, she had thoughtlessly grabbed onto the handrail to steady herself when the stairs jolted into movement, pricking herself in the process. Once she reached solid ground, she resumed her studying, her eyes scanning over her Transfiguration notes as she walked, but her mind on the impending party.

She looked forward to it every year. Initially, she had been more of a spectator. The first few years, she had been too young to drink. Ever since the first year, she had helped plan the party, from decoration to activities, theme, music, the whole event, but had to fight to even come. The twins knew she deserved to come enjoy herself, but Ron was against it, and the thought of what their mother would say if they ever found out was enough to make all four of them hesitate. But they compromised: Ginny worked the drinks table, bartending, but not drinking any herself. The next year, Ron hadn't let her have more than a glass of champagne. But the last few years had been without Ron's supervision, and while Ginny had always behaved herself, she looked forward to cutting loose tonight.

She had been planning the party for weeks, sneaking in preparations and ordering supplies between classes. George had been exceptionally accommodating this year: decorations, food, all on Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Although, Ginny noticed, George seemed to be routing the drinks through a separate account. After everything that had happened this year, since the battle in June, it seemed like the most important thing George could do was to indulge in traditions from his time with Fred. It broke her heart.

Everyone she knew was trying to recreate their lives from before the war. Hermione was back at school, completing her seventh year at Hogwarts with Ginny's year, while simultaneously working with the Ministry's department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, trying to get house elves, giants, and centaurs the recognition they deserved for their efforts during the war. She would leave on Fridays and come back late on Sunday evenings, working weekends and some odd mornings to keep pace. That was just Hermione for you: school was so important she couldn't let it go, but work was so exciting she couldn't wait to get started.

Ron was working for the department of Magical Law Enforcement, splitting time between official Auror training and necessary field work, and the Improper Use of Magic Office, working with their father in the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects Office. Arthur needed the help. Death Eaters were on the run everywhere and were constantly flinging half-baked, desperate offensive spells at unprepared Aurors. And now that a bunch of monied old families were on the run, their loyalty no longer in question, a suspicious number of formerly "missing" illegal family treasures were popping up on the black market, and most were cursed with actively malicious spells.

Harry was resting. Or hiding, as Ginny saw it. He was staying at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur, helping raise Victoire and bringing Teddy from his grandmother periodically. According to the short, scrawled letters from Bill, Harry got up early and went for a walk to visit Dobby's grave every morning, and then helped with the babies, read books, and sat and looked at the sea a lot. He would disappear for days at a time, they didn't know to where, but he would come back eventually. He seemed listless.

Ginny was polite, but firm in her responses to Bill, and anyone who asked. Harry needed time on his own. He had said so. Any attempts she had made to the contrary did not work, and were not worth her time at this stage. She was only seventeen, and she had no business trying to fix anyone. She was tired of being a rock for the boy who lived, especially when he didn't seem that interested in her anyways. So, they were officially 'not an item.' And probably wouldn't be again.

It was time for her to start presenting herself as an individual, separate from her relationship to anyone from the 'Golden Trio'. She owed herself that.

Ginny found herself contemplating her friends and family all the way to the breakfast table, then put them firmly out of her mind. A lengthy Transfiguration written and practical exam was still ahead of her. She needed to perfectly transform that macaque into macrame if she wanted to scrape an O in a subject in which she was normally mediocre. She bent her thoughts back to studying her notes and determining the intricacies of the transition from monkey to collection of artfully tangled knots and back again.

* * *

After her test, Ginny was exhausted. Her macrame had been a little tangled, and she'd dropped a few stitches in the transfiguration, but the macaque came back perfectly fine. Hopefully it would be enough. Now she just needed to get ready for the party.

Racing up the stairs to Gryffindor tower, Ginny thought through what she was going to wear. There was no dress code this year, and she was free to dress however she liked. The theme, was, more or less, 'Home'. She wanted to recreate a sense of a comfortable past, the cozy nights from the common room she remembered from her first five years at Hogwarts. She had a skirt and tights she knew she wanted to wear, and paired with some black leather heels from a Muggle second hand store, she just needed to decide whether she was bold enough to wear the silver blouse she had tucked away. It had been a birthday present from Fleur, who insisted the slippery silver would "make 'er 'air shine like fire!" It was so French, just like everything about Fleur.

As Ginny turned the corner onto another set of steps, she saw a white blond head in front of her, leisurely climbing the stairs, glancing at paintings. Was that Draco Malfoy? A standing invitation to all Hogwarts Alumni allowed them to revisit school premises any time they wished (and that invitation extended to the upcoming Holiday party), but rarely did people actually come back. Even Hermione, who was still a student, wasn't coming to the party tonight. She and Ron and a "special dinner" planned. Ginny had rolled her eyes when she heard that. And yet, here was the reclimbing pariah of Slytherin house. He was tall, and more filled out than she remembered. Muscular, but carefully covered in a sleek, all black suit, and collared black shirt. With his hands in his pockets, the only skin Ginny could see was his face, his skin smooth, alabaster, and clean shaven. His hair was cut smartly, carefully styled to look just a little messy. He looked like a roman statue come to life, dressed in Armani, and sent to wander. Ginny braced herself to breeze past him, and started taking steps two at a time, just a bit too fast. Then the stairwell jerked and started to turn.

"Shit," she mutter as she grabbed out for the handrail. "FUck!" she said louder, as she put her hand right into a holly bough and poked herself in about 15 places. Retracting her hand quickly, she stumbled and bumped into the very person she had been trying to squeeze past unnoticed.

"Ms. Weasley?" he said politely, but coldly, steadying her.

"Malfoy. Uh, thanks, I'm fine," she said lamely. "I, uh, didn't want to bother you, but then the stairs… and the damn holly." She turned to face him, feeling the blush rise high in her cheeks. She tried to quell it, avoiding thinking about how sharp Malfoy's angular jawline looked, just above her eye level. If she wanted to, she could just lean in and tuck herself under it, push herself up against his broad frame. The blush was definitely not going away.

He cocked an eyebrow, very characteristically. "They always move when you least expect them to." Ginny was somewhat taken aback by the lack of malice in his tone. "Still, a little clumsy," he said flatly. That was a little more in keeping with what she expected. In school, Draco Malfoy had been outright antagonistic, when he was not being overtly abusive. Now, he worked for his family company, and that involved spending a lot of time at the Ministry, both for personal and for legal reasons, testifying against old Death Eaters. So, naturally, he bumped into Ron a bunch, and if Ron's complaining was anything to go on, Draco's manner had transitioned from annoyingly invested to irritatingly aloof and vague. Almost like his mind was somewhere else, and he had better things to do than worry about Harry Potter and his friends. Which of course was endlessly frustrating to Ron, who would have liked nothing better than to continue to butt heads with Malfoy until the day one of them died of brain trauma.

"Yea, a mind of their own... Can I ask what you're doing here?" Ginny found the change in Draco intriguing. Obviously, this new attitude was for the better, and not a signal foreboding change and a new malicious evil. Ginny thought that maybe Draco Malfoy was just growing up. He'd been through absolute hell during the last two years.

"Visiting? Plus a little birdie told me there was going to be a ton of booze, and someone needed to watch his sister." Draco looked over each shoulder and then at her, a little conspiratorially, as though they were sharing a secret.

"Ha, uh oh, who needs babysitting?" Ginny grinned. She knew some of Draco's old school friends had younger sisters, some in her year. She wondered which of them was the subject of Draco's surveillance.

A tiny smirk crept onto Draco's face, the corner of his mouth raising up as a teasing twinkle entered his eye. "Did George not tell you the Malfoy's have been investing in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for the better part of a year?" Ginny's stomach bottomed out. This change of topic did not bode well for her. He continued, "Well, I'm trying to distance the family from our reputation of dark and brooding formalities. It seemed a prudent investment, a joke shop in a post-war economy. And, to go with our new image, I prefer to meet with my business partners over a few whiskeys in the meeting room, and then beers at the Leaky Cauldron. Plus it just gets people chatting..." he paused, leaned in, and said low under his breath, "and asking for favors."

Ginny tensed. He smelled like wood smoke and musky cologne. His knowing face looking down at her made her question _what_ it was he thought he knew. She hoped he couldn't feel her excitement at having him so close. It was like flirting with a wolf. Or a snake.

"What, exactly, do you gain from this favor?" She turned and started walking up the stairs. He put his hands behind his back and began to walk with her.

"Oh, just a pleasant visit back to my school, the stomping ground of my youth. I get to lord it over darling Ronald's head that I kept his baby sister safe for the evening, a deed which itself is unobjectionable to anyone. Maybe someday I'll gently remind George of it when I need something. And of course, I get the pleasure of your company for the evening." Draco listed the items off casually, but sarcastically. Each of Draco's justifications seemed to have been carefully considered, but there was still that lilting teasing quality to Draco's voice that made Ginny want to rise to some invisible bait she couldn't quite identify. They had reached the landing and turned down the hall to the Gryffindor Common room.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" Ginny was extremely suspicious of this change in his demeanor. She kept expecting him to insult her, or pull some prank.

"Playing at? I assure you my intentions are good." He was lying. Something in her gut told her so. Ginny narrowed her eyes, squinting up and Draco with obvious mistrust. Draco looked the picture of innocence, although a small smile played on the corners of his lips. He was definitely hiding something.

Ginny played the game. "Did my brothers, pray tell, explain why they thought I needed a supervisor for the evening when I am a fully grown witch, capable of handling my own business?" She was gently fuming at the implication that she was an incompetent. Her brothers never accepted that she was a responsible adult, and had been competently balancing school, family, war efforts, and a real social life for years, in some ways better than any of them.

"You're more than capable. I know you've planned these parties essentially by yourself for the last four years, and they are executed flawlessly each time. You handle yourself with grace and tact, the model hostess. I've always admired that in you, and it's clear you are a cut above the hothead your brother Ron is." Ginny was shocked. Draco had always paid so much attention to her brother, and so little to her, she had figured that he hadn't ever really noticed her. He rarely talked to her. And yet, here he was, commenting on watching and noticing her for some years. He continued on, sounding a little beleaguered. "Regardless of all the evidence to the contrary, George was going on about being worried that you were going to get drunk, and try to fill the Harry shaped hole in your heart with whichever strapping young lad you chose. Utter nonsense, but I couldn't calm him down. So here I am."

"And I'm just supposed to accept that you and George are great chums with no mention of it previously?" she challenged.

He looked down his nose at her. "That's basically the idea, yes." Ginny rolled her eyes and looked up at him from under raised eyebrows. Draco raised his left hand and put his right on his heart. "On a Malfoy's honor."

Ginny snorted. "Not so much to that." She remembered that the Malfoys had acted as Voldemort's lackeys for years, and then betrayed him at the critical moment. Although, maybe that was the best thing they could have done.

"Maybe not socially, but in business, it's a reliable promise." Draco pulled a wry face, the corner of his mouth raising in a way that indicated he remembered the same instance.

"I shouldn't keep you any longer. You need to get ready for the party, and you should eat a full dinner as well. It's bad practice to drink on an empty stomach." He ducked his head to look her straight in the eyes, and said, "I look forward to escorting you to the party this evening."

And he strolled away, feigning a polite interest at a few portraits who were raising their middle fingers at him.

* * *

As Draco walked away, he smirked a little to himself, thinking of the way Ginny's cheeks flushed when he'd caught her on the stairs. He'd seen her coming from a few flights away, and wasn't surprised when she tried to blast past him. And he was even less surprised when the stairs jerked to push them together. The castle itself was a huge prick, and would do anything to inconvenience and tease students. Draco wondered sometimes if it had a real mind of its own somewhere. He'd like to shake it's hand. He'd managed a non-antagonistic conversation with Ginny Weasley, and by his reckoning, she felt like she was at fault for bumping into him.

During their chat, he had been completely honest with Ginny, just not truthful. About two weeks before, George had confessed to him during one of their later nights at the pub that he was worried about Ginny at the Christmas party.

"That's moronic," said Draco, bluntly. He and George had started off as business partners, but their friendship was developed enough that Draco could be himself around the Weasley now: somewhat abrasive, without it being confused for the bully Draco had been previously. "Ginny's an adult now, and you have to let her take care of herself. She's going out into the world in six months. You going to tail her to every work party too?"

"No, I just… She's so young still! And there's that bullshit with Harry." George said somewhat defeatedly, sloshing his pint around on the table.

"Bullshit? Everything's bullshit with Potter," said Draco into his whiskey.

"Hey, just 'cause you two decided to be mortal enemies on sight when you were, what - eleven? - is not a good excuse to beat up on him now!"

"No, a much better one is that he's been hiding in a seaside cottage for six months while the rest of us had to scrape the rubble up and get on with our lives," Draco said dryly.

"Fair enough," said George. "And he deserves a break, but he left Gin in the lurch, and I'm worried those hormones and booze will take over, and…" George trailed off, looking miserable, and fingering his scarred ear. "I'd go watch her myself, but I have to watch the shop that night. Holiday rush is where we make the most of our profits this quarter. And it's pretty much the same story for all my brothers. Work, babies, _other engagements_ ," he said as though dark deeds yet unspoken were in the works. Draco raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of whiskey, but didn't pry.

"And you're getting a little old to come to a party of teenagers, even if you did start the damn thing," Draco added. He paused, gauging the opportunity he saw ahead of him. "Why don't I go?"

George looked incredulous. "You? She barely knows you, and what she does know she doesn't like! It took me months to believe you were serious about investing, and then another few months to be friends…"

"Ehh, I'm a different man than I was in school. I can charm her into suffering my presence, and keep her safe. And if not, no loss. If she's too worked up, annoyed at my presence to be distracted by some spotty Hufflepuff, then your fears are assuaged!" He raised his glass to his brilliant plan.

"You really aren't so bad. Plus, even if you talk to her once, no other guy's going to want to get close, in case they tread on your toes." George contemplated for a second, before a new grimace washed over his face. "And if she did get with anyone, it would _not_ be a Hufflepuff."

"See, I call that prejudiced. Some of them are quite prodigious in bed," Draco said winking. It was no secret that he slept outside of the Slytherin pool, especially since graduation. Experience was prided by Purebloods, and outside of marriages, which were always political, they weren't always too picky about their partner's arbitrary school sorting.

"Hey, how do I know I'm not sending a wolf to protect my flock? You may be the most dangerous thing in the room to my sister, especially with an attitude like that!" George glared at him with new suspicion. The rumours, many of them true, of Draco's sexual history had reminded George of what might happen at the party, what he feared most.

Draco put his right hand on his heart, and lifted his left, whiskey still in it, as though being sworn into court, a gesture of promise. "I solemnly swear I will not touch your sister." George raised a glass to drink to it, and took in a big gulp. Draco continued impishly, "Unless she comes to me first." George choked on his mouthful of beer, and looked at Draco with narrowed eyes.

"You cheeky bastard," coughed out George as his wiped himself off with a sopping hand.

"Slytherin!" Draco said, smiling to himself and finishing his drink.

At the time, he had meant it as playful banter. Draco did not intend to pursue George's baby sister. Ginny had been cute growing up, but red hair was not typically in Draco's taste, and his conversations with her in the past had been minimal. Mostly she stood over Potter's shoulder while Draco had flung insults at the whole group. But now, he had had a charming, if brief, conversation with her. She seemed like she understood the battle of words Draco loved so much. She was more like George in that way. And he had seen her at the Christmas party every year, and she was always polite, tactful, and charming. She normally had a group of people around her, and was able to keep court and make people from each of the houses get along. It reminded Draco of his mother, champagne glass in hand, brokering marriages and political alliances for cousins and family friends at the annual parties she always held at Malfoy Manor. As beautiful as she was, she was a shrewd politician, and knew exactly what she was doing when it came to manipulating people.

Where Narcissa was cunning, Ginny was jolly. No less clever, but would cheerfully, and wittily lead people through conversations, get them to admit more than they wanted, and then she would use that information to create the best situation for all parties involved. He'd seen her save one relationship and create two more during the Christmas party of '95 alone. She was a social businesswoman in that way, and it got Draco thinking. This girl was worth her mettle, and, if she'd let him, he'd like to be her friend. Or maybe a little more.

Whereas she had been cute before, Ginny was blossoming into a real beauty. The angles she had inherited from her father balanced out the roundness from her mother, and left her with a lean athlete's build, and a striking face. She was almost feral, and the muscles she had built through years of playing as a chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team made her legs and ass very shapely, and inspired Draco to imagine the young redhead in many _compromising positions_. He sighed a little, remembering the promise he had made to George Weasley: keep her from sleeping with anyone. The very reason he was here and getting to admire Ginny's fine form. He wasn't allowed to touch her.

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to try to get her to touch _him_.


	2. The Most Dangerous Thing in the Room

Ginny muttered the password to the Fat Lady, "Peppermint Twists", and trudged up the stairs, thinking about the conversation she had just had with the young Mr. Malfoy. He seemed wholly different from when he had endlessly tormented her brother in school. He was polite, charming, almost suave? But not disrespectful. No, in fact, he seemed to think very highly of her.

She thought about what she had just seen in this conversation. His body positions had been very calm and regal. He stood tall next to her. He wasn't ashamed to be seen with her, and though he kept a respectful distance away, he did sometimes drift a little closer than she was used to. It made her heart race.

As she reached her bedroom, Ginny saw a small brown scroll sitting on her bed. A note from a roommate sat beside it. "Brown owl brought this at 4. From WWW?" Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes? Ginny tore into the letter.

It was just a short note, written in George's characteristic scrawl.  
"Hey Gin, sending Malfoy for the evening. Don't take it personal, he's there as a favor to me. Couldn't stand it if anything happened to you. - George"

Ginny groaned and threw herself on the bed. Everyone in her family had a habit of getting mixed up in her business, trying to mother her. Her own mother was enough for that. They were all worried she was lonely after Harry had left her.

Truth be told, she was lonely. But it wasn't because Harry had dropped her like garbage. That hurt, but she had felt that waning long before. It had helped that they had been apart with no contact for an entire year before Harry really broke things off with her. She would have done it if he hadn't, but she felt like it was important for him to feel like he had some control, after a whole life of other people making decisions for him. That was Ginny's problem: she cared about other people's damned feelings too much. That was part of why she had wanted to have a night to herself to just _be selfish_. And then George had to go and stick his meddling Draco in everything.

But maybe this was actually a blessing in disguise? If Draco was here 'protecting' her from making bad decisions, George clearly trusted him. Perhaps Draco was the selfish distraction she had been looking for. She weighed the decision in her mind, as she pulled off her school uniform and began to fish her party clothes out of her drawers.

First, Draco was gorgeous. Tall and blond, built and handsome. The pinched face of his childhood gone, Draco had grown into his big nose, and came away looking statuesque, with defined features and alabaster skin. His eyes were a piercing grey, and made Ginny feel extremely paid-attention-to, somehow. It seemed like Draco was a bundle of opposites. He acted aloof, but seemed keenly interested in what she had to say, his gaze peeling apart even the most mundane things she said. He said true things as though they were lies. He actively antagonized Ron for 8 years, and then was friends with George. He was bitingly witty, abrasive, even crass, and yet respectful, deferential, and polite. Black suit, white skin and hair.

So second, Draco was interesting. He wasn't just a pretty face. Third, his sexual history was one of the most titillating conversation topics at Hogwarts. Basically the only people who didn't know about his storied past were Harry and Ron, too wrapped up in everything else oh-so-important they were always doing. Hermione knew, intimately it seemed. Ginny sometimes wondered if something had gone down between them, but it never seemed a good time to ask. Especially now when she knew that Ron was on the verge of proposing to her… But the possibility for Ginny to be with an _experienced_ partner was very appealing. So many of her partners had been 'first-timers', all of them actually. And she was keen to spend some of her time actually enjoying herself instead of teaching her partner how to please her.

So there was no downside? Except the shame and mortification if any of her family found out. And with Draco going to drink with her brother semi-regularly, it seemed like something might slip out eventually. Worse yet, what if it went off without a hitch, and she just had to live with that feeling forever, never telling anyone. Could she hold herself to that standard, and keep a secret for the rest of her life?

'Slow down, nothing's even happened yet,' she thought to herself. She finished pulling her tights over her hips, and then the tight pencil skirt on top of that. Then she looked at the two options for her top: either the silver, silky blouse that Fleur had given her, or a red Weasley sweater. Well, the sweater was so much more like her. But this was the only chance she would have to wear the blouse for a little while, and it was so gorgeous. She put the blouse on, the silver fabric slithering over her skin made her feel slippery and sexy. She looked in the mirror, happy with what she saw, but then hesitated, remembering that she still had to go down to dinner. She decided to save the shirt as a surprise for the party proper, and slipped the sweater on top.

She brushed on some simple makeup and put her hair into a ponytail. Then, very carefully, she conjured some fine glitter particles and sprinkled them through the crown of her hair. When the light hit it just right, it looked like her hair had diamond dust in it. When she was first attempting this spell, the glitter had sunk right to her scalp, and looked like dandruff. This time, the glitter stayed floating at the top of her hair, creating a diadem of sparkles. When she took her red sweater off, the glitter in her hair would excellently complement the silvery shirt.

Glancing over her reflection, and feeling satisfied, Ginny put on her heels, a reasonable pair of black lace up heels that she knew she could wear comfortably all night. She was ready.

* * *

After a rushed dinner, Ginny went to the Room of Requirement to prepare. The party didn't start until 9, but she had to set up. She walked back and forth across the door. 'I need a room where I can host a party, about a hundred people. It must feel cozy, but not crowded. I need tables for food and drinks, self-cleaning bathrooms, comfortable chairs and couches, arranged for conversation. A space for dancing, and a station to play music.' She paused, wondering if there was anything else. 'Anyone who knows the password can come in, but no one else. And, maybe put in a few nooks for wallflowers.'

Ginny tried to be as prepared as she could. Every time she tried to prepare the room, it was different, so she could never practice setting up the party. It was like the castle wanted to mess with her. So she just had to gamble every year that the space was going to work for the theme. And it mostly did! Every year the space had been good, but the decor did need work from time to time. She enjoyed hand decorating the space as well, carefully crafting the appearance of the room.

Gently opening the door, Ginny walked in to find a spacious room dimly lit by firelight and a candles. There were chaises and couches spread throughout, creating little conversation areas, a wide area in the middle for mingling or dancing, and small nooks around the edge of the room, for private conversation. It looked like the largest common room ever, or someone's gigantic living room. Perfect for the 'homey' feeling she wanted for this year. A small knock on the door, and Luna walked in with several empty golden platters.

"Good evening, Ginny," she said serenely, placing the trays on one of several tables spaced around the edges of the room. "I just talked to the kitchens. They're sending up the food at 9 exactly. Mostly nibbles, and some sweets." Just like they'd talked about. Luna had helped plan these parties a lot too, and Ginny really liked having someone to help her out. They adjusted some of the colors in the room, adding more reds and greens and golds to the decor, conjuring up tinsel garlands to drape from the ceiling, and hanging Christmas baubles from them. Then they heard three knocks on the door, the signal that the drinks had arrived.

Ginny went and opened the door, and found Neville levitating several crates of booze behind him, and carrying one in his arms. Standing next to him, with another crate in his arms, was none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Will wonders never cease?" said Ginny, standing aside to let the two young men in. Neville glanced at Draco's back a little uneasily, and then at Ginny, mouthing, 'I don't know what's happening.'

Neville always helped out with setting up, but never stayed too long at parties, preferring to go back to his room. He was working as the assistant Herbology professor at Hogwarts, under the private tutelage of Professor Sprout. Professors and students were discouraged from socializing, but that was hardly an issue for Neville. He had never been particularly comfortable at loud social gatherings, and would stay for a little while before some pressing question would draw him back to his books. Now he looked utterly bewildered, and the answer for the questions he had could not be found in books.

The two booze bearers walked back to the table where drinks would be set up and then turned to each other. "Uh, thanks for helping," said Neville, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist.

"Of course. It's quite an amount," Draco said, looking at Ginny and smirking.

"Well, it's not all for us," said Ginny pointedly. She was reminded that Draco was here to mind her, keep her from getting too drunk, and it made her a little sour. She was responsible enough not to go too far. Just a little far.

"No, half the school is going to suck this down," said Draco, sounding a little dejected. "So much good quality booze gulped down with no appreciation. All for a buzz." He sighed, the picture of regret.

Ginny raised her eyebrow at Neville, who was already sidling over to Luna. A little crack of the arrogance of his upbringing was weaseling its way through Draco's carefully crafted veneer of charm and understanding. It humanized him a little. Ginny looked at his tall, brooding form contemplating the excess of spirits on the table, and then at Neville, who was talking quietly to Luna.

He was shorter than Draco, and stockier, but getting older had leaned him out a lot from the roundness of his childhood. And the mile hikes from the greenhouse in for each meal was definitely making its mark on his form. He was one of Hogwarts more eligible bachelors after leading an underground resistance for a year, destroying Nagini, the final wretched Horcrux, and helping Harry defeat Voldemort. But he didn't notice any of the cloying girls, simpering over him. Neville was carrying a candle for Luna, and whether she was blind to it or actively avoiding an encounter, Ginny didn't know, but it was one of the things she wanted to sort out during this party.

"Have a fondness for fine spirits?" Ginny asked Draco conversationally, beginning to unload the crates. He hummed in the affirmative, looking over her shoulder with his lips pressed together, surveying the take. The quality of the booze this year ranged, most of it on the lower end, nearing Polyjuice Potion, to some nicer fare, and one very nice bottle of scotch. "This one should be for you," she said handing him the bottle and catching his gaze head on, unflinching.

Draco exhaled a quick laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile. "It is one of my favorites. If you have the time, later I'd like to introduce you to some of the finer things in life." He twirled his wand in a circle, conjuring a crystal whiskey glass in midair, just above his wand, and letting it smoothly drop into that hand. His smug smirk deepened as he inclined his head to her and sauntered back to a nook in the back of the room, settling into one of two chairs around a small table.

Ginny had to close her slightly agape mouth, and pursed her lips to keep from smiling. He really was as feisty as a Horntail. She would have to watch herself, or she would end up more than just interested.

"Alright guys, what's left to do?" asked Ginny, clapping her hands and rubbing them together, making a show of preparing.

"Basically, wait and worry," joked Neville. He looked around. "May I make a contribution?"

"Of course!" Ginny watched him go wandering off, looking at the ceiling with his hand behind his back, twiddling his wand. "Luna," she said in an undertone, as she poured them both champagne, "what did he tell you?"

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy apologized for his behavior at school, and asked Neville to come over to Malfoy Manor. Apparently they are having some trouble with some rare plants that no one can identify, and Mrs. Malfoy wants to know if they can be sold to collectors or museums, or if they are toxic and should be burned. Which made Neville worried. He's considering going just after Christmas. I told him he should look out for the creatures that live in the plants. If they're rare, the plants likely hold some wonderful, unknown animals…" Luna trailed off with a placid look on her face, daydreaming of finding some new floating dust mite that no one would believe in.

Just then, people started to let themselves in the door, always a muttered "Wenceslas" preceding them. Ginny greeted each. Dennis Creevey came and began to play music on an old record player, wizard and muggle songs intermingled in a bizarre hodgepodge that made the room feel like a combination of everyone's home.

As the room warmed up, Ginny went to the side and pulled off her sweater. She quickly adjusted her hair in the handy mirror right by the door, and went back to hosting the party, dutifully greeting people as they filtered into the party. Gryffindors came barreling in small groups, bringing sparklers, poppers, and some of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes Indoor Fireworks. Hufflepuffs came in large groups, each bringing some food to share. Ravenclaw girls came with flavored vodka, and boys with butterbeer. Slytherins came oozing in with candy and more and more music. Soon Dennis was flipping through several dozen records, a mildly ecstatic look on his face, "This is the newest Weird Sisters album! It's not even out yet, how did you _get_ this?!" Ginny's silver shirt got lots of compliments, and the firelight did indeed light the fine glitter in her hair, and more than one envious witch commented on her spellwork. It felt like the coziest house party. Everyone had a place.

In between chatting with newcomers, Ginny contemplated the new leaf that Draco was turning. She looked back at him in the corner, to find him actually turning leaves. He was spinning his wand languidly, transfiguring a decorative hatstand into a Christmas tree. She continued talking with Luna, and cheerfully chatting with people as they came through the party as she watched the spell unfold over Luna's shoulder. The wood of the hatstand was remembering what it was to be a tree, growing branches and spiky leaves. Draco then started conjuring silver tinsel out the end of his wand and guiding it to decorate the tree. Green and silver baubles then followed. Still a Slytherin at heart, his house colors poked their way out whenever they could. Ginny surreptitiously pointed her wand at the tree, and muttered a spell. Some of the baubles slowly changed from silver to gold, and green to red. Draco watched bemusedly as his all Slytherin tree became a Slytherin-Gryffindor hybrid, and he looked at Ginny knowingly. She raised her glass to him and smirked impishly.

* * *

Some hours later, it was almost one in the morning. Ginny was pleasantly buzzed. She'd had several glasses of champagne, but switched to water about an hour before. Draco hadn't needed to babysit her, and she wanted to prove it to him. The party had gone well. Neville's "contribution" had been a sly sprig of mistletoe that got more than a few couples into compromising situations. He'd charmed it to vary its position, moving throughout the night, and Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan had gotten caught under it twice already, and Ginny had just spotted it above where they sat now. If no one pointed it out to them, she'd eat her sweater.

She herself had used Neville's little prank to help his own situation, maneuvering him and Luna into a corner where the mistletoe just _happened_ to spring to life above them. And all concerns about nargles aside, Neville and Luna had shared a lovely kiss that Ginny had spied on with proud, shining eyes. Luna and Neville were 'taking a walk' on the grounds now.

Ginny made her way back to the corner where Draco had been sequestered for the entire party. Most of the guests had left him alone, only a few Slytherins exchanging polite, curt nods with the blond. He didn't look altogether unhappy though. His whiskey bottle was still mostly full, maybe only a glass or two short.

"So you've been enduring this virtually unaided!" Ginny said, sitting down in the chair opposite him. Draco looked at her a little absently. She'd startled him out of some reverie, and so she pointed to the bottle.

"Mmh, yes. It's been dreadful," said Draco smirking a little. "Watching so many people being happy." He looked at her from under his eyelashes. "But I'm here on business, not pleasure. I needed to make sure nothing bad happened to you."

"And here I am," Ginny said a little defiantly. "So go ahead. You deserve to have some fun too."

"Join me for a glass." It wasn't really an invitation. More of a request.

Ginny raised her eyebrows and acquiesced. Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it at the table, a drop of clear liquid dropped out of the tip and pooled into another crystal whiskey glass. A second drop, and a perfect ice sphere formed in the middle. Then Draco reached out a poured enough whiskey to cover the ice halfway. "Two fingers," he said, showing her the measurement on the side of the glass. "That's all you need."

Ginny nodded and took her glass. She looked at Draco and mimicked his actions: she swirled the liquid around, letting the ice chill it. Then she stuck her nose in a smelled the whiskey. It was smokey, and smelled like moss and stones after a rain, and made her nose burn. Then, she took a small sip.

And immediately coughed. It was burning, sweet and smokey and harsh. "Ugh, why?" she moaned through the coughing, her eyes watering. Draco just laughed and rolled his eyes, handing her a glass of water he had handy. As she drank the water gratefully, she put the whiskey carefully back on the table.

"It will take time to get used to it. Try to take in as little air as possible when you sip. What does it make you think of?" She tried another little sip.

"Fire and rain. It's like a long lick on a gravel driveway in the Hebrides after a rainstorm with a campfire in the background." Draco looked at her piercingly, his forearms resting on his knees.

"You have a good palate. That's basically all the undertones too. An interesting description, I'll grant you. But-" he smirked, leaned back, and winked, "-I liked it." Ginny shifted in her chair, turning to face him.

They chatted about nothing and everything, waiting until the last of the stragglers went home. Their conversation ranged back and forth, from the mundane to the honest and intimate: the Daily Prophet, the Ministry, how obvious it was that the politicians had no idea what was going on or how to fix it, the new Hogwarts professors, a long and heated talk about the Quidditch teams and the season thus far. They talked about their favorite subjects in school, what kind of jobs Ginny wanted to work, complained about the price hike for Butterbeer ("Scarcity after the war?! Bullshit, _now_ is when we need it most of all."), trying to get back to normal after the war. What a great dancer Ernie McMillan thought he was, and what a surprisingly good dancer Seamus Finnegan was.

At her feet, a trail of paper cutouts of reindeer pranced their way along the carpet. The crew was pulling a tiny sleigh and a miniature Father Christmas. The little paper man chortled and cracked his whip above the reindeer. Someone at this party had some exceptional drunk-charmwork. Ginny would put money on Hannah Abbott. Ginny watched the little crew go dashing around the carpet, winding between chairs' and dancers' legs. Father Christmas would throw little bunches of confetti and cheer when they passed a couple snogging. One of the times they passed by, Draco stuck his foot out at the last second, causing all the reindeer to crash into his shoe, bunching up and scrambling over each other. Draco smirked with a cruel glee as Father Christmas fell out of his sleigh with a tiny cry.

Ginny smacked Draco's arm without thinking, reprimanding him as she leaned over to straighten out the paper animals. When she was finished, the crepe paper party looked a little worse for wear, but was able to continue on their merry way. Ginny looked up to see him looking at her with a thoughtful look in his eye. "Why did you do that?" she asked him.

"I thought it would be funny. And it was," he said daring her to disagree.

"It may have been. But I liked watching them run around." Ginny furrowed her brow a little. Draco had been so personable all night, but this moment was a little unsettling. It reminded her of his years of bullying.

"And look, they still are," Draco gestured to the sleigh, bumbling around a couple of amorous fifth-years. "C'mon, I didn't light them on fire. They recovered quite well."

"A little mean spirited," said Ginny, trying another small sip of her drink.

Draco gestured to himself, raising an eyebrow as he lounged back in his chair. "Why do you people keep forgetting I am a Slytherin?"

The conversation moved on, talking about George and Draco's friendship. Draco said George was a worrier, a jokester, and an idiot. It was obvious he liked him a lot. Ginny smiled, thinking about how much they had disagreed during school. She wondered if Ron would ever attempt a friendship with Draco, when it came to light that he was a Weasley business partner. They talked about new Wheeze's products, their favorite sweets growing up, which flavored vodka made them want to vomit when they smelled it.

Ginny slowly finished her glass of whiskey while they chatted, and Draco had two more. It was just after half past three in the morning when they vanished all their rubbish and Ginny picked up her long neglected sweater. A few people were passed out here and there, but it had been a relatively calm year. It was smaller than before…

Ginny closed the door to the Room of Requirement, and walked with Draco. She stumbled a little down the hall, and grabbed onto his arm to steady herself. Steadying didn't come so readily, and she found it easier to just keep holding on. Draco looked down at her a little surprised. "Ms. Weasley, you should have stated your intentions! I'm just a naive little boy!"

"Ooooh, there's _nothing_ naive about you," Ginny emphasized up at him with faux narrowed eyes. "I know what you've _done,_ " she ribbed him a little, leaning into him. They drifted towards Draco's side of the hall, most of Ginny's weight on Draco. She angled them towards a small nook, containing a decorative suit of armor. Sensing their approach, the suit shimmied slightly to the right, clearing a space for them.

"Whoa, woman, hold yourself up!" he said, feigning weakness. "Ginny!" he exclaimed as they careened straight into the nook. The suit of armor very subtly shifted behind Ginny, covering the couple from outside eyes. Or maybe she had imagined that it had moved at all…

"Merlin, that whiskey hits you really hard," said Ginny, holding her head and looking up at Draco, who had cushioned her collision with the wall.

"Yes it does! That's why I only let you have one!" said Draco, leaning off the wall to rub his tailbone, the impact zone. This unanticipated action pushed his thigh in between Ginny's legs and she felt the closeness with sudden acuity. She looked up at him, and felt his breath, hot on her cheek. He smelled like the whiskey, smokey and peaty. His lips were slightly parted, and his signature smirk gone. She flicked her gaze up, and saw his eyes, half lidded, looking right at hers. The grey in them was turbulent, dark and stormy. He wanted her, but something was holding him back.

Very slowly, Ginny tilted her head up, raising herself on her toes as she did. Moving infinitesimally, she went to touch her lips to his. Draco held perfectly still, almost vibrating with the effort. Ginny could feel his rapid breathing under her hand, his chest rising and falling faster as she closed the small gap between them. The moment she felt her lips touch his, it was as though a floodgate had been released.

Draco's hands came up to hold her face pulling her into the kiss. His lips came down on hers again and again. She wove her hands under his suit jacket, feeling him through the fabric of his dress shirt, and then she pulled that out of his waistband, trailing her hands over his bare skin. There was a manic desperation to their actions, as though they were afraid the other was going to disappear at any second. Ginny massaged Draco's lower back as they kissed, feeling the taught muscles ripple under her hands, before pulling his hips to hers. She felt him groan into her mouth, his hands reaching over her body, and she grinned inside their kisses.

The bulky sweater from before the party was forgotten, dropped on the floor in their stumble. Draco slid his hands over Ginny's silk blouse, and then slipped his hand through her collar, undoing a button for full access. Caressing her collarbone, he massaged her neck muscles gently as he dipped his head to kiss her just under the jawline. Ginny ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him into her, and moaning, muttering affirmations and pleas to continue.

"Say my name," he said into her ear. It was almost a growl. Ginny remembered that animalistic quality she had seen on the stairs: Draco was dangerous, and she loved it.

"Draco," she said, grinding her hips against his. She was dimly aware of how breathy and needy her own voice was, and unable and unwanting to do anything to change it. She felt him shudder a little, his sharp exhale on her neck. He grabbed her hip bones with both hands, and kissed her full on the mouth. His hands slid back over her ass and grabbed two handfuls, pulling her hips upwards with his hands, and pinning her backward against the wall with his kiss. He released her, his hands settling on her waist, his forehead resting against hers.

"How far are you willing to take this?" he said a little hoarse, his voice low and husky. He didn't make eye contact, looking only at her lips.

"Pretty damn far," Ginny smirked again. "What did you have in mind?"

"Tonight," said Draco, and he leaned down, to sneak another kiss, "I am going to walk you back to Gryffindor tower, make sure you drink a big glass of water, and send you off to bed, like I promised you brother." He looked at her with taught, desiring eyes. "Any other night, I cannot promise that you will make it home in one piece."

Ginny shuddered and giggled, rolling her eyes. "You think you're so dangerous."

Draco laughed a real, full-bodied laugh, and snaked his arms around her, his lips brushing against hers with every word, "Oh, but I am dangerous. And when you get a proper taste, you're _never_ going to forget it."

* * *

True to his word, Draco escorted her to the Gryffindor Common Room. Ginny blurted out the password without even attempting secrecy and walked in, dragging him by the hand. It was so late, no one was there. Sitting on a couch by the fire, he conjured a new glass with the same crystal drop trick from the party, and made her drink a whole pint of water. Despite her protests that she was fine, he encouraged her to eat a piece of toast, brought up by a very suspicious, though not outright disrespectful, house elf. Then he sent her up to bed by herself, with another fierce kiss goodnight.

"Don't forget about tonight. I intend to see you again," said Draco, half illuminated by the fire. His eyes were in shadow, but they burned with the reflection of the dancing flames. A boy dressed as dark as coals, with eyes of dancing fire, and skin like palest ash. Ginny was becoming a poet.

"As soon as I can," she promised. "Send me an owl." And with that, she turned and went to bed.

* * *

A/N: There's lots more coming! For SS, maybe only a chapter or two, but much more is in my brain...


	3. A Reflective Night Alone

Draco reflected on his evening, and found that he was obsessed with Ginny Weasley. He began his long walk out of Hogwarts and down to the grounds, mulling over the party. He'd been looking across the room all night, watching her laugh with her friends, and somehow get everything she wanted, skillful tactician that she was. She'd managed to get Neville _fucking_ Longbottom (presumably) laid, and that takes a true golden tongue. She was stunning. She had worn a loose silver blouse tucked into a tight black skirt and tights that showed off every curve of her ass and legs. They were muscular, and all Draco could think of was the feeling of them around his head, or wrapped around his waist. She had done something to her hair, and it glittered with a delicate grace that made her look like she had tiny jewels in her hair. The silver shirt was sexy, yet modest, with a low neck, but sleeves down to her wrists. It rippled and moved with her, and revealing an athletes build, curvy yet lean. She looked incredible, like she was wearing snakeskin. She didn't need to show any skin, like most girls in his circle thought. As Draco reached the Great Hall, he summoned his old Nimbus 2k1, which he had used to cover the grounds. He then mounted, and began a lazy flight across the castle grounds.

Ginny hadn't even ignored him all night, which she could have very easily done. She'd sought him out, and shared his whiskey, describing it like she was a poet. And nailing the flavors even though its primary flavor was probably burning. She was so much smarter than he had ever given her credit. She had a social grace that was unspeakable. She had held a conversation with him that was simultaneously intimate and casual, superficial and profound, skating around dangerous areas like their sides in the war, and yet commiserating on what it was like to pull the world back together afterwards. Ginny also had the tact to sense small changes in his demeanor, and changed the subject when before he was bored, something that happened very easily. She was charming, irreverent and hilarious, cheeky and witty. 'A little spitfire,' he'd thought as he smirked into his glass, watching her talk animatedly about the merits of the Appleby Arrows and their performance against the Wimbourne Wasps that season. 'A personality with hair to match.' The ginger hair was becoming a favorite of his, becoming solely associated with her, rather than with her brothers.

After the party, Draco had tried to guide her to her common room, but Ginny had been a little too tipsy, forcing the quick stumble through the hall and then straight behind the suit of armor. It was almost too perfect. Draco wondered if Ginny had planned it. She was so sneaky like that, he couldn't be sure. Though, he wished their contact zone with the wall hadn't been him. But then she'd looked up at him with those whiskey-brown eyes and, instantly, he'd known he was fucked. He should wait for her to make the first move, but he'd known all along that if she didn't make it right here right now, he was going to. Damn George and all his wishes, promises and pie crusts, et cetera.

So timidly he wasn't sure she wanted to, she had kissed him. Soft and hot and wet, she smelled like pine and tasted like his whiskey. He'd lost it, kissing her for everything he was worth. By no means inexperienced, he normally liked to toy with his partners, teasing them through a 'courting' dance they could not know the steps too. He liked to have them off balance. This was different. Ginny was on completely equal footing to him, and somehow he felt off balance. It was exhilarating, and it explained why he'd had several former paramours show up at Malfoy Manor over the summers, pining for his attention. If this is what it felt like to be spoiled, teased, and toyed with, he was going to be an absolute sucker for the youngest redhead. He had to deal it back just as strong.

He was cruising past the greenhouses, and heard giggles and talking coming from within. A pair of scantily clad silhouettes danced around in each other's arms, and Draco's suspicions about Ginny's matchmaking skills were confirmed. He smirked to himself, remembering Ginny deftly and surreptitiously moving the mistletoe to where Longbottom and Lovegood were sitting on a leather loveseat.

As his flight through the grounds continued, his fingers began to grow numb with the cold. His warming spell was a little shaky, and it revealed his intoxication level was just a little too high to apparate. He took the safer option and went to the Three Broomsticks to use their fireplace. The pub was closing, but when he explained what he needed, Madame Rosmerta let him use the fireplace. He used Floo powder to travel directly into the basement fireplace at Malfoy Manor. The Manor had more than twenty fireplaces, but Draco chose this one because he did not want to run into his mother. He could not endure her inquisition until the morning, at least. He was in no position to defend himself. The basement would have to do, seeing as he couldn't Floo directly into his room. Using the Floo network was "terribly bucolic", according to Narcissa, and always caused ashes to scatter everywhere. Draco knew he could never tolerate that mess in his room.

Sure enough, when his feet slammed down in the basement fireplace, a huge cloud of ash and dust spread across the floor. He charmed a spare broom to sweep the mess back into the grate, as he trudged up the stairs. Down long hallways, his shoes made no sound on the thick carpets lining the marble floors. As he reached his private rooms in the house, he was relieved to find the fire still burning in his fireplace. He was cold and aching, after a long hike and messy journey home. He hung his woolen coat in the armoire that stood by the door, and placed his old broom next to it, a relic of childhood rivalry. He then stripped off his clothes, folding suit and mud-stained trousers across a chair for later cleaning. He then went into the large bathroom that was attached to his bedroom, and turned on the water for a shower.

He wanted to get clean before he fell asleep. He felt dusty and dirty and sore, a long night of standing and sitting and flying in the cold, even bundled by his warming spell and coat. As the water began to steam, he turned it down a little before stepping in, letting the hot water roll over him. He ducked his head under the water, and pulled through his hair with his fingers, loosening hair product and the feeling of the day from him. He watched the blond locks as they were pulled down in front of his eyes, the hair a palest ash blonde and very fine, like corn silk. He flicked his hair back, running his hands over it, turning to put his back under the hard jets of water. He let the water pound against his sore muscles, loosening the knots and tension from him. He picked up a bar of soap, lathering the bar between his hands, and began to wash.

As he did, he started to relax into the memory of Ginny. He thought of the way her eyes lit up when she was talking to her friends. The conspiratorial way she leaned in to him and gossiped about some of the people she had made matches for during the evening. The way her hand had felt in his, dragging him into the Gryffindor Common room. He remembered her little stockinged feet, playing with the carpet's edge while he made her drink water. The shapely legs attached to those feet, and the amazing ass on top of those. Her round pink lips, wet and ready, as she had leaned in to kiss him. He opened his eyes, finding himself completely erect and covered in soap. He gently took his cock in his hand and began to stroke, up and down. He remembered the tension in her neck as she looked up, allowing him to kiss and nibble under her jaw and down to her collar bone. He remembered the warm feeling of her skin through her cool silk blouse against his bare stomach. Had she pulled his shirt up? He intensified his grasp on his cock, fucking his hand. He could almost feel the juicy curve of her ass in his hand when he'd grabbed it. The soft skin of her cheek when he'd taken her face in his hands, her hair tickling the backs of his hands. The feeling of her breath on his. The sound of her breathy, desperate voice, saying his name like it was meant to come from her lips.

"Ginny," Draco groaned as he came, grabbing at the side of the shower. His orgasm rocked him with its power and unanticipated arrival. His eyes closed through his climax, he stood, gasping at the intensity he had just experienced. As he caught his breath, Draco could feel himself swaying with tiredness. He turned, letting the warm water passively wash the soap and mess from him. In a daze, he rinsed himself off completely, turned the water off, and got out of the shower. The cool air woke him up a little as he toweled off, drying himself with a plush white towel. His eyes still glazed over, he looked at himself in the large bathroom mirror. 'You are now a man who has wanked to a Weasley,' he said to himself, shuddering a little at the revelation, but smirking at the thought of his father's and ancestors' disgust at his actions. 'Well, that's my new role: family disappointment. Changing everything the Malfoy's have stood for after ten centuries. Better to survive than die...'

This bathroom was a testament to his new function: keep the history, change the present. It was part of new renovations to the Manor, completed only a few months ago. Draco had moved out of the rooms he had occupied as a child, and into an adult's apartment suite within the Manor, signifying his new status as the head of the Malfoy Estate. His father was still alive, although 'indisposed', as Narcissa politely put it. Truth was, Lucius wasn't appropriate for the new brand the family was trying to build. He spent most of his time wandering the grounds, training his hunting dogs, or in the library. It was Draco's job to run the family now. Narcissa was guiding him, finding him the right political marriage that would secure the high social status to which the Malfoy's were accustomed. However, Narcissa found her efforts somewhat hampered by Draco. He refused many of her candidates, feeling that none were really acceptable. And Draco knew his mother thought so too, because she was asking his opinion. When she found the girl she really wanted him to marry, he wouldn't be given a choice.

Draco's new rooms consisted of a first sitting room, a small personal study, a large bathroom, and a bedroom. He'd allowed his mother to renovate many of the rooms of the Manor as her personal project. Much had been damaged during Lord Voldemort's self-imposed tenure there, and the remodel allowed Narcissa some personal agency in wiping away the stain the Dark Lord had left on her home. It was almost like the family was regenerating as the house did. When Draco saw her plans for the new face of Malfoy Manor, she had turned to him, and looked up from under her eyelashes. "Branding," she had pronounced. She had opted for a modest version of the grandeur old generations of Malfoys had relished. Simple white walls and trim decorated the room, with dark curtains and sumptuous dark wood furniture. A black and white marble hearth surrounded each fireplace in his bedroom and sitting room. It was austere, but it was everything he expected from Malfoy Manor. Classic, and yet modern.

The bathroom was more equipped than many spas Draco had gone to with his mother. A glass shower with tall ceiling and many shower heads, two sinks, and a wall-to-wall mirror. By the window in his bedroom, Narcissa had insisted on a huge white claw-foot tub that could easily fit two and a half Dracos, the purpose of which he could not fathom. "For the day I want to drown myself, surrounded by my opulence?" he had said, raising an eyebrow when he'd first seen the installation. Narcissa had looked at him sharply from across the room, causing Draco to flinch almost imperceptibly. He had never used it, but it stood there, a solemn open mouth, reminding him that the Manor wanted to eat him up.

A large four-poster bed was the only item of furniture that survived from the suite's previous life as a gaudy, Malfoy apartment. Its dark wooden frame reached tall to the ceiling, and the bed was huge, wide enough for Draco to lie on in any orientation he wanted. When he had first seen it, he had dramatically flung himself on it from several angles to confirm its dimensions. Luckily, Narcissa had _not_ been present for this display.

Draco crawled into this bed now, folding himself under the smooth cotton sheets and heavy down comforter. He was accustomed to some luxury, and a bed was not the place to skimp on it. Weighed down by the long night, and the rush of hormones he had just experienced, he drifted off to sleep almost without effort.

* * *

He was running through the gardens in front of Malfoy Manor. Aunt Bella was yelling and cackling just behind him, leading a crowd of Death Eaters. She could catch him if she wanted to. She was throwing spells over his shoulder, blasting patches of gravel in front of his feet.

"Coward!" she yelled, laughing. "You've always been a coward." Draco ducked and turned, running to the front doors of the Manor.

"Let me in!" His voice broke as he yelled. "Please, please, they're coming!"

"The price of your bloodline..." voices from behind the door whispered and moaned. They were thirsty and rasping. There was a dagger in Draco's hand, cold and black and twisted. His father's letter opener.

He slashed at his forearm, cutting a gash that bled on the doorstep. The front door creaked open as Aunt Bella rounded the corner of the hedge, coming out of the labyrinth garden. She looked like she had just come from Azkaban, still in her prisoner's uniform. She was skeletal, ashen, and cackling, her black teeth showing with each peal of laughter. Her long fingernails had blood caked beneath them, and her cheeks had long gashes to match.

Draco went running into the Manor, blood still dripping down his arm and onto the marble of the Manor's foyer. He turned right, toward the bedrooms from his boyhood, but the halls he had known all his life were suddenly foreign, twisting and doubling back on themselves. He was down in the basement, surrounded by towers of old family relics. And Bellatrix. She pointed her wand at him, laughing as he cowered.

Draco struck out randomly with his wand, and fire poured out of the end, liquid jets forming animals of various sizes and descriptions. He looked in horror as the inferno crashed around the room like a tsunami, engulfing his aunt and countless items that embodied the Malfoys. Fiendfyre, the same spell that had killed Crabbe because he was too stupid to control it. Draco took off running, sprinting through the twisted hallways of his family home, watching as the walls around him burned and crumbled even as he watched. He turned, and saw Lord Voldemort's flat face in the fire, laughing and sneering, destroying. Draco had done this, he had brought this upon his family. His lungs burned with the smoke and the cost of running. He rounded another corner he didn't remember, hoping to find the exit. Instead, his foot found a wrinkle in the plush carpeting that lined the hallways, and he fell, face first as the fire crackled and roared around him.

He woke up, sweating and yelling, sat straight up in bed. Bright light was streaming in through the opened curtains, though the shadow cast by the large tub told him it was not late in the morning yet. Draco felt like vomiting. He reached for his wand and conjured a glass of water, as he had done for Ginny the night before. In his panic, his glass looked a little cock-eyed, slanting sideways. He drank from it deeply, sloshing water all down his front before he noticed. He ran his hands through his hair and held his head in his hands, looking down at his arm. No gash, not even a scratch.

His nightmares came in waves, sometimes more tolerable, sometimes worse, but he had them every night. They had been getting steadily worse for the last few weeks. It was another of the reasons he had volunteered to stay up all night to watch Ginny Weasley: if he was up all night, he couldn't be asleep having nightmares. And maybe he would be so tired that when he did sleep, he wouldn't dream. His plan clearly hadn't worked. It was one of the worst nightmares he had ever had. "Aunt Bella is dead," Draco intoned like a prayer. He had seen it, but he did not believe it some days. The memory of her haunted him like a ghost.

And Voldemort? "Even deader."

* * *

After another shower, Draco carefully coiffed his hair, dressed in a dark green suit and went down to breakfast with his family. It was Saturday morning, and still before mid-morning. Lucius was sitting at the head of the long table, a breakfast plate nearly empty in front of him. He was picking at it, taking the remains of his meal and feeding them to the dogs sitting raptly at the side of his chair. Asterion and Chara, his father's two hunting dogs, were the only thing Lucius seemed to care about anymore. He would get up early and train them, taking them for long walks around the Manor grounds. He would hunt rabbit and foxes twice a week, and spoiled the dogs more than he ever had his son. Narcissa was sitting halfway down the table, her back to the long windows overlooking the Manors' grounds, eating two soft boiled eggs and reading the Daily Prophet. Each parent had their own pot of tea. 'A symbol of their schism,' Draco observed.

Draco sat at the opposite head of the table, and requested toast and eggs from the small house elf who came to serve him.

"Anything interesting in the Prophet?" he inquired of his mother.

"Where were you last night?" she countered, not even looking up.

Draco tried not to purse his lips. "I went to a gathering."

"Of whom?"

"Some people from school. I went as a business favor." Now it was Narcissa's turn to keep her expression neutral. She approved of the Malfoy rebranding, and liked George well enough as a person, on the one or two occasions they had met. But Draco knew George's family history was something Narcissa could not ignore. She couldn't quite accept him, or of Draco's dealings with him. Draco didn't even speak about his friendship with the Weasley, but his mother almost certainly knew.

"Why didn't you apparate home?" Draco looked at his hand. He was rolling a crumb of bread between his thumb and forefinger, and contemplated it as he formulated his response.

"I'd had a few drinks. I didn't want to splinch myself."

"That pissed were you? Can't handle your liquor..." Lucius grumbled from the other end of the table, feeding Asterion a piece of fried egg from his plate.

"Do be quiet, dear," Narcissa mused, her eyes not straying from the pages of her newspaper. Draco saw her clench her jaw, and knew they had been fighting before he'd come down. He finished his toast and eggs as gracefully as he could before he spoke again.

"Mother, please remind me, which night are you holding the party this year?"

"New Years Eve. I wanted to try something different. I was so tired of those Christmas parties." Remembering the Christmas party from the night before, Draco hummed his agreement to his mother, though he was in complete opposition.

* * *

A/N: For Jessica, idreamofdraco. I hope you enjoyed this! For the DG SS, this is as far as I could comfortably get through the story that I found rolling out in front of me. I _promise_ there will be more. What started out as a simple three word prompt has cascaded into a long, multi-chaptered fic that I can't wait to write. ~megglette


	4. A Commanding Invitation

"Ginny, you paying attention?" Luna leaned across to Ginny, and asked her gently.

"Huh, oh… Not at all," she admitted airily. She had been thinking about Draco Malfoy. Staring out the window of the train, she watched the green countryside rolling by, without paying attention to any of it. Her mind was on the party from the night before.

She had secretly watched him all night. He lounged in his armchair in the corner, like a Roman emperor, feigning disinterest in the events around him. But Ginny could tell he was envious. He looked sidelong at people laughing and having fun, with a glare that was part disdain, and part longing. Draco was lost without his posse. It was hard to ridicule people when you had no squad behind you to snigger and rally behind your jibes. Not that Draco was throwing that many barbs anymore. He seemed delicate somehow. Upon reflection, that was completely justified.

Draco's family had been passive supporters of Voldemort because it was expected of them. They were an old and established Pureblood family, upper crust, posh, and arrogant. But their loyalty had been skin deep all along. The allure of power was tainted by the reality: Voldemort didn't share power. He kept it all for himself and exploited those below him. This had left the Malfoys in a very difficult situation, one that Draco had been born into. They were nominally loyal to the Dark Lord, but didn't actually want him to return after his first defeat.

This was apparent once he actually _did_ return. Voldemort had commandeered their home, stolen their possessions, and terrorized their family. He had ridiculed and mocked them for their excesses, the thing that had previously set them apart from other wizarding families, including Ginny's. The Malfoys pride lay in their money, estate, and social standing, and siding with Voldemort had stripped it all from them. It was no wonder Draco was fragile. He had been raised to believe he was better than everyone, and then a genocidal madman had pushed his father around like he was a cowering child, stolen and derided everything he believed was valuable, and then degraded it, even as he stole it. 'He must hate Voldemort,' Ginny mused. She wondered if she would ever get to ask him about it.

She was on a pleasant train ride home now. Ginny was left alone to her daydreaming. Luna and Neville were sat demurely hand-in-hand in the train carriage with her. They had their heads together, whispering sweet nothings and planning holiday visits. Luna was showing Neville a copy of the Quibbler, now back in distribution, that he was pleasantly suffering through, when they arrived at King's Cross Station.

They collected their bags and said their farewells, each going in search of their own family. Ginny never had to look far for a Weasley head, and sure enough, Ron and George were waiting for her.

"Mum sent us so she could have dinner ready by the time we got there," said George cheerfully.

"Oof, thanks," said Ginny, as Ron took her trunk from her, putting it on a cart. "How are we getting home?"

"Floo," grimaced Ron. "Couldn't figure out how to do the sidelong apparition with you and the trunk with just one, and then we brought two of us and still couldn't work it out." He looked exhausted. The long hours with the Aurors were clearly wearing him down. Bags under his eyes and taught, pallid skin made him look like he'd been up all night.

"Erm, why don't you go ahead," said George. "You look terrible, mate. Apparate home, tell Mum we're coming. Gin and I can manage." He gave her a wink, and squeezed her shoulder, conveying an unspoken plan.

"Yeah, Ron," Ginny agreed. "We can do it alone." Ron looked relieved. He gave Ginny a brief, shuddering hug, and then walked hurriedly off to an apparition point at the end of the platform.

"What's wrong with him?" said Ginny, concerned.

"He was going to ask Hermione to marry him last night," said George gravely.

"But -" Ginny prompted.

"But he got called into work at the last minute. Just like always. They had a huge row instead. I'm not sure if he backed out, or yelled about it instead, but he's miserable. I think 'Mione may have called their relationship off again." George was lightly dragging his fingers over the shell of his scarred left ear, something he always did now when he was thinking, or nervous about his siblings.

"Hey, they'll sort it out," said Ginny, patting his arm. But she wasn't so sure. Ron and Hermione had a… tempestuous relationship. When it worked, they complemented each other beautifully. But when they were stressed, they had a tendency to take it out on the other. And right now, each was balancing a demanding job, and Hermione was also taking Hogwarts classes. It was no wonder they were butting heads again.

"Yeah, yeah…" said George. "Hey, I, uh, wanted to ask about last night." Ginny's expression hardened. "I'm sorry I sent Malfoy to mind you. I just… I'm so worried. Ever since…" he trailed off, but Ginny knew he was thinking about Fred. It made her heart ache.

"It was just a party," she said gently. "I'm fine. Nothing happened," she crossed her fingers behind her back. Not _much_ had happened.

The trip back to the Burrow was complicated. George had to go first with the trunk, and then Ginny was supposed to follow. They could barely fit George and the trunk into the grate together, and they each regretted sending Ron home prematurely. "The stringbean could have fit in here with this, but not me!" moaned George.

Finally, they decided on a different method. They arranged the trunk first, then tossed in Floo powder calling out the name of the Weasley's ancestral home. Then George went second, hoping to land "without breaking my ankles!" Ginny waited three minutes for George to clear the grate before stepping into the fireplace herself and proceeding to the Burrow. All things considered, it worked relatively well, though George complained about landing splay legged on the trunk in front of their mother, bruising his tailbone and startling her into dropping a pan of roast potatoes.

The family dinner was small, just Ginny, Ron, George, and their parents. The conversation skirted around Hermione and Ron's work. Arthur and Molly asked Ginny about her school year, her exams, her friends. Ginny found she had a hard time focusing on any of it, and was almost glad when the meal was over and she could go to her room.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Ginny woke up suddenly. She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling and dimly wondering why she wasn't still asleep. A sharp rapping on her window reminded her. She rolled out of bed and blearily opened the window. A magnificent eagle owl hopped in through the window, a letter in its clutches. Ginny took it, and offered her hand. The owl poked its beak under her fingers, and Ginny gently gave it a few strokes while opening the letter one handed.

"Work caught up with me. I'll stop by the shop later this week. ~D"

She scrawled a response back beneath his note, and gave it back to the owl. It hooted at her, righteously, and she looked around the room for something to feed it. "Hold on."

Padding down stairs, she passed by her parents' room, and heard them talking through the door. Hushed voices, but she could make out her name, and Harry's. 'What I wouldn't give for an Extendable Ear right now,' she thought, carefully stepping on the edges of the stairs, treading a route she knew would not creak and alert them to her presence. She prayed briefly that they were not planning some way to get them back together.

She found a few pieces of dried porridge and a small dish of water and brought them back to her room. The eagle owl pecked at the oats disdainfully, and then took a drink, preened itself, and took off into the night.

* * *

She woke in the morning to the sun streaming through a gap in her curtains, right into her face. It had been a few days since she had gotten word from Draco, but he had not come to visit her. Ginny was beginning to wonder if he had regretted their kiss, and she would never hear from him again. The thought made her angry. It was obvious to her that they had something, but if Draco didn't want to pursue that, she would just have to ignore it. She had been caught in a sulk for a while.

The past few days had been busy. She was working in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, helping with the mad holiday rush. It seemed like half of London wanted to pick up Skiving Snackboxes before the new term started. Or maybe it was to skip out on family dinners. Ginny was starting to want to do that.

Brothers would come home for a few hours at a time to hug her and tell her how they were doing, ask how she was doing, and then go rushing off to whatever they had just remembered they had to do. Ginny always felt like an afterthought to them. The only good visit so far had been Bill and Fleur with the babies. Teddy was visiting from Andromeda, and his fine hair was a shocking teal. "He takes after his mom," said Ginny with a sad smile. Teddy was walking, bumbling around and drooling on everything. Victoire liked to pull on Ginny's hair and babbled in nonsense that Ginny pretended to understand perfectly. Ginny was relieved that Harry did not accompany them.

She was happy to be working in the shop, happy to be close to George. He was one of her favorite brothers, and before things had gotten bad, she had worked here during the summers to get some extra pocket money. Now that she had some extra earnings again, she needed to do some last minute Christmas shopping on her lunch break today. After a stressful morning, telling off a few third-years trying to nick a love potion, and a fifth-year who kept trying to convince her he was 17 (in order to buy Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-Bangs), Ginny finally got thirty minutes to go do her shopping.

She ran through Amanuensis Quills, picking up a long macaw feather quill for Luna. Then into Obscurus Books for 'A Pocket Guide to Healing Herbs', for Neville. Then she dove through Rosa Lea Teabag for a box of Hermione's favorite blend. Then, her arms full of parcels, she careened out into the street, and straight into Draco Malfoy.

Ginny juggled her boxes a little before she looked up at Draco. "Oh hey, I was wondering when you'd be by," she said nonchalantly. Her stomach was fluttering with a hundred fairies. Draco's hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his woolen coat, a soft scarf carefully tucked around his neck.

Draco smirked a little. "It seems we keep bumping into each other," he teased her. Ginny raised her eyebrow at him, a smirk playing on her own lips.

"Here for business or for pleasure?" she asked, turning back toward the joke shop.

Draco cast a glance over his shoulder. "Both," he said. "I was hoping to find you and talk. But I don't have much time right now. I'm -"

Just then, a tall blonde woman exited Twilfitt and Tatting's and sailed to Draco's side. As she arrived, the woman gazed at her curiously, placing a hand on Draco's arm, almost protectively. Ginny recognized Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother. Narcissa She felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, and the fairies in her stomach began a mad riverdance. She decided to take the initiative.

"Draco, you should introduce me."

Draco looked at her with something like shock, and then blinked quickly before saying, "Of course. Mother, this is Ginevra Weasley, George's sister." Narcissa looked at Ginny with the same penetrating grey eyes she had passed on to her son, although Ginny could not read them. She seemed to be _judging_ Ginny by some scale, and Ginny became keenly aware of her Muggle jeans and minimal makeup.

"Yes, what hair," said Narcissa. "Unmistakable." She smiled warmly, and Ginny almost dropped her armload of presents. This was not the reaction she had been expecting. "Draco, you should help her with the boxes."

His face barely containing the look of bewilderment that Ginny felt, Draco took a few steps in and carefully scooped the gifts from Ginny's arms, meeting her eyes significantly as he did so. They seemed to say, 'Don't screw this up.' Ginny did her best to maintain a look of confident neutrality, but her heart was racing. She had instigated a conversation with the Malfoy matriarch, and hadn't gotten eviscerated yet. Apparently, the key was confidence.

The trio turned to walk back to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Narcissa angling herself to walk beside Ginny, cutting Draco out of the conversation and forcing him to walk behind them. Narcissa walked with a controlled grace, and Ginny was sure that if she placed a book on her head, it would not budge, even on the treacherous cobbled street of Diagon Alley.

"I'm so glad Draco sought your brother out as a business partner," said Narcissa smoothly. "He desperately needed to get out of the Manor, and any socialization…" she trailed off with a knowing look at Ginny. Ginny considered the statement's implications. Either Draco had cut himself off from other people, or all his old friends were dead… Or persona non grata. Draco had mentioned that he was cultivating a new image for the Malfoy family. It stood to reason that social ties were linked to this as well.

"It's been really good for George, too," she said, trying to sound as natural as possible. She imagined she was talking to a snobbier version of Hermione: this woman thought she was better than Ginny in every way, and Ginny could not let her gather a shred of evidence to support this theory. "He's been a bit distracted for the last six months, but I can tell these meetings with Draco have renewed his focus."

It was a bit of tactful half-truths. Her brother was a mess, more than distracted missing his twin. George _had_ seemed better recently, but Ginny hadn't known why. But Ginny couldn't throw George under the Knight Bus to gain this woman's favor. She walked a razor's edge.

"Yes, well, from what I've gathered it hasn't all been work meetings," said Narcissa, throwing a teasing glance backwards at Draco. He looked as though he weren't paying attention, but Ginny saw the tips of his ears redden. He was clearly listening.

"We all lost friends," said Ginny, remembering the Christmas party from a few days before. It had been so much emptier than previous years. "Making some new ones is probably the best thing we could do." She looked at Draco's mother sidelong as they walked, gauging her reaction.

Narcissa chuckled a little, looking at her impeccable dragonhide boots and grimacing. "Isn't it peculiar, following a war like this. Everyone is trying to pull together a shred of what they had before." They had just reached the shop's front door. Narcissa stopped and turned to face Ginny, taking both her freckled hands in her gloved ones. The cool leather felt strange on Ginny's chilled fingers.

"I hope we can be friendly," said Narcissa, gazing deep into Ginny's eyes. She was only a little taller than Ginny, but her demeanor was so commanding, she might as well have been Hagrid-sized. Her grey eyes were like glass beads, cool and collected. Ginny could almost see the wall of courtesy, shielding Narcissa's true intentions. Ginny wondered what this woman's game was.

"I'd like that very much," she said, softening her face, and squeezing Narcissa's hands a little. She was terrified of Draco's mother, and hoped she'd never have to see her again. But she could _not_ show her that weakness.

"Excellent. The shop should be closed on Christmas Day. Come around for an early tea, 2:30 in the afternoon," Narcissa said, a smug smile budding on her lips. As Ginny began to protest, she continued, "No, I simply couldn't have you refuse. It's no trouble at all, and I'd love to speak to you about your plans after school."

Ginny felt like the cobbles had fallen out from under her. Somehow she had walked right into Narcissa's trap. After days of fighting off her family's impertinent questions, she had somehow invited a _stranger_ , and at that a potentially malicious stranger, to interrogate her. She was glad the flush in her cheeks was dulled by the cold.

Narcissa gently let go of Ginny's hands and went to Draco's side. "Draco, take her things inside. I want to look in Madame Malkin's for some gift for Mrs. Greengrass." Without another word, she went sailing off, her proud face alight with the conversational triumph she had just achieved. Ginny watched her, feeling a little helpless.

"Don't worry," said Draco, standing tall by her side, watching his mother go with a strange look on his face. "She does that to everyone. You actually did phenomenally well." She looked up at him sharply, and he roguishly winked down at her.

They walked into the shop together, to find the lines long and the shop assistants harried. Ginny put a hand to her face in exasperation, sighing, "Here, come with me." She led him to the back room where she kept her things, and gestured to a table where he could lay the parcels. "Thank you for carrying those, by the way."

"Mother's orders," quipped Draco. He stacked the parcels carefully and neatly, before glancing around. "How much longer do you have on your break?"

Ginny glanced at the clock on a shelf in the back of the room. "Another six minutes. Although that conversation with your mother felt like an eternity."

Draco let a small smile slip, then said, "That's my mother. She keeps you on your toes." He walked casually around the table towards her, pointing his wand over her shoulder, at the door. Ginny heard the deadbolt click shut. "And so do I," he said as he reached her.

They stood in the middle of the room, between the table and the shelves. Draco slowly raised his hand and brushed a loose lock of hair out of her face, the other reaching her waist. He coaxed the edge of her sweater up over her hip. His fingers were warm, and they skimmed the edge of her waistband, back and forth. His right hand settled on her neck, while the left continued to trail across her skin.

Ginny could feel her cheeks growing hot, her breath coming faster. She raised her eyes and looked at him. His grip on the back of her neck was firm, as his face came down to hers. She let her eyelids flutter shut.

Draco's lips touched hers softly, quickly retreating before coming back again and again. He feathered soft kisses on her lips, but wouldn't let her kiss him back. Ginny's hands had been resting gently on Draco's waist, but after a few unsuccessful attempts at snagging a kiss, she grabbed deep handfuls of the fabric of his shirt pulling him into her. She managed to catch one deep kiss before Draco straightened just out of reach.

"Oh, so feisty. You don't like playing that game, do you?" He bantered, stepping slowly backwards to rest on the shelves. Ginny, her hands still wrapped in his shirt, shuffled forwards with him. As he reached the ledge, she leaned her whole body weight against him.

"Not really," she said coyly. "I like this one." And she began to kiss him slowly, deeply, one hand firmly rubbing from shoulder blade, around to his ribs, and down his abs to his hip bone and back up. She ran the fingers of her other hand through Draco's carefully arranged hair, down and around to his jawline, toying with the sharp edges of his bone structure. She felt him getting hard in his trousers, and gently ground her hips against him.

After a few minutes, she pushed herself off the shelving, leaving him leaned there, one hand still in the air from where he had been playing with her hair. She gestured to the clock over his shoulder. "Have to get back to work," she said cheekily, taking a few jaunty steps backwards. Draco looked positively aghast.

"C'mon," she said walking forward, and tapping him on the nose gently, "It's all in good fun." She pulled her ponytail out to readjust her hair, and pulled her sweater back down.

"Are you going to come?" he asked bluntly.

"What?" she paused, turning back to him, her hands halfway through putting her hair back up.

"My mother invited you to tea, and she expects you to come. If you aren't going to come, you should say. It's just polite." Draco sounded insolent, like a little child.

Ginny finished her hair, and turned to Draco. "What has gotten into you. You're being awfully rude. Why should I come?"

"Because she invited you."

"I barely know her! People are invited to tea all the time, but they don't really mean it…" Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching one fist. Ginny could tell he was frustrated, but couldn't figure out why. Did he _want_ her to flounder in front of his mother more?

"My mother doesn't do that. She wants to get to know you," Draco took another breath, and opened his eyes. "And I want to know why."

"Because I'm charming? Isn't that enough? And it's Christmas Day! I'm supposed to be with my family," snapped Ginny, looking up at him impertinently. "I don't see why I should come visit your terrifying family and their Manor instead."

"Because I want you to." Draco said it simply, looking right at her. Ginny froze with the honesty of it. Draco wanted her to meet his family? He wanted to share his home with her. This more than a fling for him. Did he really want to be friends too?

"Why?" she prodded.

"Oh, 'any socialization is good for me,'" Draco said with a smirk, investigating his nails. Ginny gently backhanded his arm.

"My company best of all," she goaded, tossing a look over her shoulder as she led them out of the backroom and into the front of the store. Draco raised his eyebrow at her, insinuating so much with just a small movement. It made Ginny shudder with anticipation.

* * *

A/N: Happy New Year!


	5. Thinking and Fretting

Draco met back up with his mother, still reeling from Ginny's little stunt. She had played him like a violin. She had turned his game back around on him. He had planned to get her hot and bothered, and then leave her wanting more. He wanted to charm her closer. But instead she had turned the game around, attacking him with her own controlled need and then, at a moment's notice, pulled back completely. She had sauntered away from him with a devilish smirk, and it made Draco want to slap her and then kiss her again. She had pulled his same damn trick on him, and, somehow, he hadn't seen it coming.

As Draco walked with his mother, she chatted about inane things: the prices of gloves, a cashmere shawl, the new hat she wanted to buy. Draco politely nodded along to her ramblings, but he knew she was just filling time until they were alone. She wanted to discuss something serious, but she would never do it in public. Knowing one of his mother's interrogations was coming, Draco contented himself in pondering Narcissa's interaction with Ginny.

He'd tried to remain calm, walking behind his mother and George's sister, praying neither said anything that set the other off on a tirade. Either could be so stubborn as to alienate even people they knew and _liked_ , and these women had no obligation to like anything about the other. And yet, as he'd walked behind them, feigning disinterest and straining his ears, he'd watched platinum and red hair bounce amicably beside each other. They were each playing a political game, although what they hoped to gain, Draco had no idea. It seemed to him like neither truly knew what they wanted, they just weren't going to show weakness to the other.

Draco snapped out of his reverie as they reached the Three Broomsticks, and Narcissa requested a private dining room. Tom took them to the back room the Malfoys had always used when they visited the pub. It was not especially large, but it provided them the privacy that Narcissa needed.

Draco was surprised that his mother did not launch straight into whatever it was she wanted to talk about, but something was holding her back. She instead ordered a pot of tea and scones. As the Tom left to collect the food, Narcissa stood and stared pensively out of a window overlooking the alley. Draco took the time to return to his own thoughts. What had just happened? How had Ginny managed to come out of a conversation with his mother in one piece? People normally left conversations with Narcissa crying, at least. His mother clearly wanted something from Ginny, but if it was information or time or something else, Draco couldn't tell.

Maybe this was his mother's own attempt at cultivating her image? It was a pretty safe bet. The Weasleys were a well-respected Pureblood family who had landed on the "right side" of the war. And of all the Gryffindors Draco had ever met, Ginny and George were the most like Slytherins he had ever known. They were cunning, clever, witty, and Ginny had shown just now how cruel she could be. Draco smirked, chiding himself mentally. His dignity was a little bruised, but he was blowing her teasing out of proportion, he knew that. Had he been able to joke with George about it, he would have laid his hand across his breast, feigning grave injury. He knew George would laugh at his poncy imitation, and probably would have been proud of his sister for snubbing Draco, if he didn't have an aneurysm at the idea of them snogging. George and Fred had been famous in school for their harsh jokes, jokes that ran in the family, it seemed. Now George made money off that same mean spirit. Draco was benefitting from that too.

"You have a meeting this evening, is that correct?" said Narcissa, abruptly. Draco was startled by her sudden comment, and her uncharacteristic interest in his business dealings. She mostly left him alone in that matter. He had asked her once, why she had fingers in every pie except his work life, and she had replied sternly. "The Malfoys have enough money that you couldn't fritter it away with _any_ incompetence. It just isn't possible. If you happen to earn us any extra, what a boon! If not, your foolishness won't ultimately harm us. I must focus on what people _think_ of us, not on how we truly are. That's your business."

On the one hand, she was right. The Malfoy fortune was massive, and the estates far-reaching, extending off the British Isles and onto the European continent. If Draco did somehow manage to make a sizeable dent in the family fortune, it would have been through a concerted effort, and not idle ineptitude. Still, his mother's comments solidified, in Draco's mind at least, how alone he was. He was paying for his parents', his father's mistakes, and no one was going to help him.

"Yes, I'm meeting George for drinks and a casual chat about the holiday earnings," Draco answered the question as neatly and factually as he could. Any extra details would just give his mother fodder for questioning or criticism.

"You know I didn't think much of him when I met him. The _family_ aside, he didn't strike me as anyone particularly adept." Narcissa caught the Draco looking at her from under his brows. "A perfectly charming young man, but he's not going to win a seat on the Wizengamot any time soon. His sister is a different matter, however. She is too cunning for a Gryffindor, I don't know why the Sorting Hat put her in that house. She's clearly of the right sort, no matter what her family upbringing." It wasn't hard for Draco to tell what 'the right sort' meant. Political, shrewd, manipulative, all the things Narcissa valued. And all traits Ginny had. It was remarkable really. Narcissa looked very sternly at her saucer, pursing her lips. She was perched on the edge of the dingy couch like it was her throne. Draco was used to her decorum, but the stark contrast between her bespoke robes and the worn surroundings reminded him once again that his mother was _not_ someone to be trifled with.

"She's… unexpected," granted Draco. He kept his true feelings close to his chest. She was beyond unexpected, she was riveting. He couldn't stop thinking about her. She had occupied his every thought since he left her in Gryffindor tower. She was enrapturing, gorgeous. Her eyes lit up and sparkled and she was fiery and stunning and made him want to annoy her just to get her attention. He loved the way her eyes narrowed and her lips quirked into a smirk when he landed a jibe. If anyone could appreciate a well-placed tease, it was Ginny Weasley.

"Yes, well… Keep an eye on her." Draco felt Narcissa looking at him with a queer expression on her face, but when he turned to look at her, she was nibbling at her scone, all traces of probing gone.

"Everyone's asking me to do that recently," he said, more to himself than anyone. He kept his own expression trained on his tea, but monitored his mother's reaction. Ever the professional, she didn't even flinch. If his mother had had the misfortune of being born a Muggle, MI5 could have used a woman of her insufferable tact.

"It will be interesting to have her over for tea." And with that, the conversation slipped back to superficial pleasantries. Narcissa filled the silence with gossip about the higher echelons of wizarding society: Mr. Greengrass was publicizing his Pureblood Family Artefact Restitution Fund with a gala in late January; Mrs. Zabini's latest husband had died under suspicious conditions and she was on the prowl again; the elder Mrs. Bulstrode had rewritten her will right before dying, and the entire family was in a snit. This sort of meaningless chitchat continued until Mrs. Malfoy had finished her scone and tea. She then got up and kissed Draco on each cheek. "Have a good evening, darling." And she apparated away.

Draco was left in the lurch. He hadn't had to pay that much attention during the conversation, and he couldn't believe he got out of one of "Mum's serious chats" so easily. Yet, he was left with a feeling of unease. He knew it wouldn't really be resolved until Christmas Day, until Ginny came and had tea with the Malfoy matriarch.

* * *

Draco met with George that evening. The ginger looked exhausted. He wandered over to the bar with glassy eyes, sitting down with an uncontrolled thud, like he couldn't even be bothered to set himself down. He just flopped. Draco slid him the pint of beer he had waiting, and George gratefully guzzled it down in one big swig.

"Drinking to forget the day?" Draco asked, looking at George sidelong.

"Shop was horrible today," croaked George in answer. "Everyone pushing and yelling and just throwing absolute fits when they couldn't get what they so desperately needed just right then. It just does my head in." He ordered another beer, and sipped that more reservedly. A combination of fuming and exhausted, he slumped over his glass, leaning his head on one hand. "You're so lucky being an investor does not include _working_ in the damn shop."

Draco raised his pint glass to his lips. "You'd get a lot more tips though."

George rolled his eyes so hard he almost hit his head on his glass. "We're a joke shop. We don't take tips."

"Well you'd have to put out a collection jar if I worked there," teased Draco, feigning superiority. "I'm so charming I could get ten Galleons out of a goblin."

"If he didn't off himself, just to stop listening to your voice. You ever started putting the moves on me and I think I'll cut my other ear off." George smiled, bantering back. The weight of the day was starting to leave him. Draco smirked to himself, feeling satisfied. Part of being friends with people was being what they needed you to be. Draco was pleased to be George's suave annoyance. The role suited him, and he could gently tease his friend out of any sour moods.

"I've been meaning to ask," said George offhandedly, "how was the party? Ginny was pretty quiet about the whole thing."

Draco swallowed his beer, trying to keep calm. "Not really much to say, mate. A bunch of older students got together and drank a lot of champagne. I sat and sipped my whiskey, surveyor and minder of the castle. Your sister chatted and danced at a, frankly, despicably conservative distance from any of her partners," he said throwing George a pointed look. "Hmm, got Neville Longbottom a _shag_ , somehow…"

George raised his eyebrows, but sipped his beer knowingly. "Luna, huh? How'd she finally manage?"

"Some sneaky mistletoe relocation. How did you guess?"

"That has been a thorn in her side for ages. She complained about it all the time. Glad to hear it finally panned out," George spun a coaster around on the table by one corner.

"Has she always been so ready to… meddle?" Draco asked. He was intrigued. This was a chance for him to learn about Ginny and who she was in private. George would be able to give him insight, figure out how to get under her skin.

"Pretty much, yeah. She likes to mess with people. She was a great asset to us in our pranking heyday," George looked wistful.

"Yeah, you like to mess with people too," said Draco pointedly. George was playing with the ruined shell of his ear. Draco was reminded of his dead twin, Fred. Before his injury, and Fred's untimely death, obviously, the twins had been identical, down to the pattern of their freckles. They were inseparable. Back in their school days, they had wreaked havoc on the other students, regardless of which house they were in. Draco remembered a few key instances when he'd been on the receiving end of a prank, and he'd wanted to hex George and Fred's indistinguishable freckled noses off.

"Why do you think I'm friends with you, mate?" said George slyly. "You were always the best to wind up." Draco made a rude gesture and George shoved him with his shoulder.

"You all think you're _so_ funny," drawled Draco.

"Get to talking to Gin at all?" asked George. "Sounds like you were at the other end of a tongue lashing."

Draco almost blushed at the unintentional double entendre, and only years of keeping up appearances in front of his mother kept his face from reddening. "Yes, once she decided she wasn't going to jinx my toes off, I did get to speak to her. I almost enjoyed myself."

"Hey, thanks for going. Somehow, having even a slimy git like you there made me feel better. Knowing someone was looking out for my sister."

"It was fine. Nothing happened." Draco said, reassuring George for the umpteenth time, while mentally crossing his fingers. 'Nothing _bad_ happened.'

* * *

By the end of the night George was more than a little punchy, the combination of a few beers and a long day working the joke shop were starting to take their toll. Draco helped walk him to the Floo fireplace in the pub. George was in no state to Apparate.

"More damn Floo," muttered George. Then suddenly, he turned to Draco. "You play it cool, but be honest: did anything happen between you and Gin? She seems all distracted, and I can't help but pin it down to the party."

Draco rolled his eyes a little, even as his heart skipped a beat. He played with telling George that he was clandestinely meeting Ginny in backrooms and behind suits of armor to snog. That Ginny was coming over to meet his mother and have tea. The thought of George's reaction almost made Draco flush. He would be livid. But Draco felt like if George could see that Ginny was _easily_ holding her own against him, his fears would be instantly assuaged. But the thought of losing his friendship, and business partnership, was just not worth it tonight.

"I kept my promise," he said, recreating the arm position from when he had taken his oath. Even under Veritaserum, that statement would hold up. He hadn't touched Ginny, not until after Ginny had touched him. "I didn't make a move on your sister, and I made sure no one else did, either."

George seemed satisfied, much to Draco's relief. He didn't want to lie to him. Not to his face, not about this. Telling half-truths was just so much more palatable. He patted Draco's arm once, hard, in relief, and then climbed into the fireplace. Then he was engulfed in flames, and disappeared.

Draco soon followed him, landing in the basement once more. He trudged up to his room, contemplating the next few days. Ginny was coming for tea on Christmas day, just the day after tomorrow, and Draco wasn't sure what to expect. His mother was clearly orchestrating something, and Ginny deserved a fighting chance at success. He stopped dead in his march to his room, as a new thought occurred to him. 'What is she going to wear? Oh, please, Merlin, don't come in anything shabby.' His mother was trying to be more accepting, but if Ginny showed up wearing jeans or a homemade sweater, he'd never see her again. His mother would just gut her and serve her for Christmas dinner.

* * *

The next afternoon, after a distracted meeting with some of his father's old business partners, Draco had some time to accomplish the task he had left for himself. He braved Christmas Eve shoppers and found her something he deemed to his mother's taste. He took into account her insistence that Ginny was a Slytherin girl inside: 'the right sort'.

Just after tea, he packaged his gift and strung it between two of the family's eagle owls. He wrote a quick note, and signed it with an initial, like his first note. He didn't know if Ginny was keeping their meeting secret from everyone, but if she was, an incriminating letter with his name on it was the last thing she would need.

After a final check that everything was in place, Draco instructed the eagle owls as to their destination. They looked at him haughtily before nodding to each other and hopping off the windowsill. He leaned against the huge bath, staring out the window, watching the eagle owls fly into the setting sun, parcel strung between them, until he could no longer see them.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the long gap. This chapter gave me a lot of trouble. I'm looking to pick up a beta to help me shift through my ideas faster. If you are interested, please PM me! ~megglette


End file.
